Absolute Symbiote Chapter 13: Amazonia.

Chapter 13: Amazonia.

(General P.O.V)

The sound of boot-sandals on stone filled the torchlit tower chamber. Shirtless, a yawning Thomas leaned against the wall near the narrow window, watching as a squad of Amazons ransacked his modest quarters.

They tossed bedding aside, checked under the cot, and even inspected the single wooden shelf stacked with a few clay cups and bread crumbs.

"Not that I’m complaining," Thomas drawled, voice carrying just enough to irritate them, "But this is the first time I’ve had so many beautiful women in my room. Do we really have to do the rough search bit?"

Ursa—one of the two guards assigned to watch him in the stables—didn’t even turn her head.

"Face the wall and stay quiet, mongrel." she snapped.

Thomas crossed his arms. "Nope."

Izah, the other guard, let out a short laugh. "Told you he’s not afraid of you."

Ursa’s jaw tightened. She strode over and drove her fist into his stomach. It was like punching a statue. Thomas didn’t flinch—just raised one eyebrow, a silent question about whether she was still holding a grudge over the horse poop incident.

Furious and embarrassed, Ursa’s hand went to her sword.

"Stop." Diana’s voice cut through the tension as she stepped into the room. Behind her came an elderly woman with snow-white hair pulled into a severe braid, her ceremonial dark robes swaying with each limping step.

Thomas already knew who she was—he’d pulled it from the minds of the Amazons before they’d even arrived. Agatha. The High Priestess. And unlike the rest, her mind was a blank wall to his telepathy.

Agatha’s eyes fixed on him with a warmth that was clearly for show. "So this is the guest from the outside world."

Diana shot Thomas a tiny shake of the head—warning him. He smothered a laugh, straightened, and gave a courtly bow. Taking Agatha’s hand, he kissed her knuckles.

"Thomas," he said smoothly. "An honor, though I must apologize. I’d have prepared a proper welcome if I’d known you were coming. But I was woken in a rush, my humble abode turned upside down without so much as a ‘good morning.’"

Her smile thinned. "If you’ve nothing to hide, you have no reason to worry."

The air shifted—Thomas felt the subtle ripple of magic. She was scanning the room… and him. The invisible cloak of mental hypnosis he’d woven around the baby on his back flared under the strain. He clamped down hard, holding the illusion steady.

"Forgive me," he said, "but I don’t even know what you’re looking for. Your warriors have searched every cranny and corner. Nothing to show for it."

"There is one last thing," Agatha said, turning to Diana. "Use the Lasso on him. Let us hear from his own lips where he was last night."

Thomas forced his surprise to look genuine, though his mind raced. The Lasso’s magic was not something he could easily circumvent in his current state—and if he told the truth, him and the baby were finished. He was already planning his exit.

But Diana didn’t move for the Lasso.

"No," she said firmly.

Agatha’s head snapped toward her. "What?"

"You’re overstepping," Diana said, arms folding. "He is a guest of Themyscira, under my protection. It is his choice whether or not he submits to the Lasso’s magic."

All eyes turned to Thomas.

"Hell no," he said instantly, grabbing onto the lifeline provided. "Last time you used that thing on me, I couldn’t lie for a week. Not fun."

The mask slipped. Agatha’s expression twisted. "The time of reckoning for your disregard of the Gods’ will is soon to arrive," she told Diana, voice cold. Her glare swept to Thomas—sharp enough to cut—before she spun on her heel and stalked out, her warriors in tow.

The room felt lighter without her in it, but only slightly.

Now alone, Thomas held up a finger before Diana could open her mouth.

"Not yet," he said.

He kept it raised until the last pair of armored footsteps clanked down the tower stairs and the sound faded beyond the range of his senses. Only then did he exhale and let his knees give way, dropping to the floor like someone had cut his strings.

"I owe you one, Princess," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "That was way, way too close. What a terrifying woman."

Silence.

He glanced up—and found Diana standing over him, arms folded, foot tapping against the stone. Her expression wasn’t angry so much as tired of his games.

"You get one chance to come clean," she said evenly. "Or I use the Lasso."

Thomas groaned and waved a hand. "Fine, fine. Can’t hide anything from you anyway."

The invisible pressure of his hypnosis cloak loosened. From his back, the small form of a baby emerged in plain sight, snug against him in its crude carrier. Thomas gestured between them.

"Diana, meet Cute Baby. Cute Baby, this is Princess Diana of Themyscira."

The child cooed and reached out toward her. Diana blinked in disbelief.

"Talk," she grunted curtly.

An hour later, she was seated on the edge of his bed, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands.

"I need a barrel of the mead from the halls of Valhalla," she muttered. "The strongest drink I can think of to process this."

"Wrong pantheon," Thomas said lightly from where he sat on the floor, watching the baby roll in a determined but futile attempt to crawl. "But yeah, I get it. Not easy to accept that anyone would want to hurt something this cute." He leaned closer, cooing at the baby until it let out a high-pitched giggle.

Diana glanced up at him, and for a moment her lips softened into a smile.

"I wouldn’t have thought you were so great with children."

"Are you kidding? I was the number one dad, five years running—according to my daughter." His face shifted, the grin replaced by something quieter. "That was a lifetime ago, though."

Silence hung between them for several long seconds.

"What’s the baby’s name?" Diana asked finally.

Thomas shook his head. "Doesn’t have one. Wasn’t supposed to survive, so… why bother naming it, right?"

Diana leaned closer to the baby, her hair brushing the child’s cheek. "He has the prettiest silver-blue eyes I’ve ever seen."

Their faces were close now—too close for Thomas not to notice the warmth of her breath.

"He’s not the only one who hit the genetic jackpot," he murmured. "I can see why they call you Wonder Woman. Your eyes are unreal."

Diana blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Thomas…"

The baby farted loudly.

They both laughed, the moment breaking apart as naturally as it had formed. Diana straightened, clearing her throat.

"You’ll have to keep hiding him while I… figure something out."

"Would help if you could get some milk for him," Thomas added.

"I will."

"And Diana—" he leaned forward, voice low, "be careful of Agatha. There’s something off about her. I don’t think she’s entirely human."

Diana’s jaw tightened, but she nodded and left without another word.

Alone again, Thomas tapped his chest. A thin, red tendril pushed out an old rolled-up scroll. Unlike the baby, this was one thing he hadn’t shown Diana. He unrolled it just far enough to glimpse the ancient symbols inside.

If what was written here was true, there was only one being on the island who could confirm it.

The caged god of war—Ares.

(Thomas' P.O.V)

The dream began in fire and ended in silence.

Steel rang in my ears under a sky ripped open by lightning. The air was thick—hot, metallic—like I was breathing blood. I stood in the middle of a battlefield so big it made the horizon look like it was bending under the weight of the dead. The ground was black, soaked through, every step sinking with a wet squelch.

Above me, golden chariots screamed across the sky, pulled by horses with manes made of fire. Line after line of Amazons dropped from the clouds like a shining flood, spears leveled, shields marked with emblems of victory. There was nothing human in their eyes—just conquest.

The Justice League was gone. The gods of Olympus lay among the mortals they’d once protected. Even the mountains had been split open.

And in the center of it all, untouched, stood one figure. The sunlight bent toward her like it didn’t dare touch anyone else.

She turned.

Diana.

Her armor wasn’t the one I knew—this was imperial gold, carved with the stories of her victories. A deep crimson cloak trailed behind her, flowing like blood down a temple altar. In her hand, she held a severed head—white hair, thick beard, a crown still clinging to it. Zeus.

Her voice was thunder when she raised her arm and roared,

"Amazonia!"

The sound cracked the world apart like glass, and I woke up choking on air.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Sweat ran down my face. The shadows in my quarters felt wrong—too heavy, like they’d followed me out of the dream.

My hand went for the scroll on the table before I caught myself. Moonlight edged its corners like it was daring me to open it. Not yet. Not tonight.

I turned instead toward the small bundle beside my bed. The kid was still asleep, one tiny fist gripping the blanket, breathing slow and steady. It was a sound that didn’t belong to the same world I’d just seen in my head.

I stood, stretched out the stiffness in my back, and crossed to the window. The cliffs of Themyscira were catching the first streaks of dawn, the sea still holding the last of the night.

I dropped to the floor, legs folded, spine straight. Closed my eyes.

Enough waiting. Enough reacting. I could feel it—something was coming. And whatever it was, I wasn’t going to beat it alone.

It was time to wake Carnage.

The thought sank into me like a stone into deep water, rippling through my mind. My breathing slowed. My focus pulled inward. The faint warmth of sunrise on my skin faded until there was only the cold, dark place inside where Carnage slept.

I went looking for it.